Annie: A Bride For The Farmhand - A Clean Historical Western Romance (Stewart House Brides Book 3)

by Charity Phillips

  The newspaper came out three days later and as soon as I bought one I hurried back to the house so that I could read through it in private. I didn't want any of the ladies to see me perusing the mail order bride advertisements and start clucking about it. There was a time when I would have been considered an ideal bride for many of the young men in the city and any idle gossip from these ladies was sure to stir up rumors and mutterings as to why I had withdrawn completely from society and what may be inspiring me to seek out marriage away from my home. It may even be cause for the few bachelor men still left to start paying calls on me, and that was simply something that I did not need.

  As soon as I arrived home, I sat down in the parlor and spread the newspaper out on the table in front of me. I briefly scanned through the news pieces for the day, almost as though convincing myself that I had the paper for a more legitimate reason, but then, deciding that there was no one in the house that I needed to impress, I flipped through to the end page to read the bridal advertisements.

  Many of the messages were poetic and flowery, overtly romantic though written to absolutely no one in particular. Others were stark and to the point, almost as though the men writing them were actually filling out order forms for their spring planting season seed packets rather than seeking out their life partners. I waited for one of them to interest me, for something to jump out at me so that I would know which one I should respond to in order to find the right man, but none of them did.

  I had just about given up on the notes and closed the paper when I noticed another advertisement on the back page. The large picture caught my eye with a headline that said "Bride Train" and an image of a well-dressed woman stepping into a train. Though I had little conviction that that woman was, indeed, one of the brides that was actually using the services of the bride train and not a model used for the advertisement, I was caught by the description. I read through it several times then hurried over to Valerie's house to discuss it with her.

  ****

  July, 1863

  Dear Diary,

  Though I have spent so many months trying to find the path that would take me away from this city and this house full of horrible memories, now that it is my last night here I am realizing just what I am leaving behind.

  Instead of the sadness, pain, blood, and terror of the soldiers, I am remembering the playful laugh of my father and the games that we used to play when I was a little child. Rather than thinking of my mother's death, I am remembering her smile and how she smelled when she would hug me close to her after putting on a fresh dress dried out in the sun.

  I was not anticipating feeling this level of sadness and hesitance when this day finally came. The new owner of the home will be here tomorrow morning, just before I leave. It will be difficult to think of someone else living in these rooms and moving along these hallways, but I pray that he and his family will be able to fill them with joyful memories that may be able to further dampen out the bad.

  Tomorrow I will take a coach to a meeting place two cities over and join a small wagon train. It is hard for me to even imagine this collection of wagons traveling across the next several states. There will be no husbands other than the one of the woman arranging the journey, and the only other men will be hired hands who will be responsible for driving the wagons and caring for the animals. It will be approximately a six weeks' journey and then we will reach our destination and climb aboard the bride train.

  This train will travel from that point to a city called Bannack, Montana. The woman arranging this journey, Mrs. Sutherland, told us that we will stop at each destination for a period of one week before carrying on with those women who were not selected to the next destination.

  I plan on staying on the train until the last stop. I know nothing about Bannack, except that it is as far from this city as the train will travel, and that is enough for me. When I arrive in Bannack I will simply agree to marry whoever approaches me who I am able to tolerate. I take great comfort in the stories that I have heard from former brides who have chosen the same path as I have. They tell me that for the most part the men are quite courteous and are happy to have separate sleeping quarters and a formal relationship as they get to know each other.

  I must decide how much of my financial assets I will reveal to my future husband. Though I know I am obligated to offer some in reciprocation for the marriage, part of me wants to withhold a portion as a failsafe for myself. I supposed I have plenty of travel time ahead of me to decide.

  Betsy

  ****

  Though I had left home in the steamy, almost oppressive heat of July, by the time the train pulled into the station near Bannack, the November air was cool and thin. I clutched my shawl close around me and stepped out onto the platform alongside the few other women who had remained along with me. Many of them looked tired, worn, and emotionally torn after several months of traveling from city to city, stepping out onto the train platforms to meet with the eligible men who gathered there in hopes of finding a suitable wife, and then having to return to the train when they didn't find anyone who was interested in them.

  I knew that this experience had been difficult for them and that many of them were completely torn down by the experience. They had boarded the train with the hopes that they would have their husband within just a few weeks, and now they were at the very end of the line with the fear in the bellies that they wouldn’t find a husband here either and would have to return home ashamed, embarrassed, and cast into lives that had little to nothing to offer them any longer.

  I had purposely remained on the train at each stop, with the exception of the occasional break just to breathe in the fresh air and feel something beneath my feet other than the continuous sway of the train floor. Now that we had arrived at our final destination, I knew that the time had come to face the decision that I had made for my life. The past was far behind me and it was time that I step bravely into the future that lay ahead.

  As I stepped away from the train I noticed the men lined up along the back of the platform. Some looked distinctly nervous while others had the put-upon expression that I was familiar with from the wealthiest men at home, as if choosing a wife were just another thing that they had to do on their long list of burdens and obligations for the day.

  There seemed to be no organization to how the pairs came together. As the hired men who traveled with us unloaded our trunks and other belongings, the women drifted closer to the center of the platform and met with the men who had stepped forward. The men evaluated us, and then one by one they started to step closer and introduce themselves.

  For the first time in my journey I noticed that I wasn't like the other women who had chosen this path. I was several years younger, had never been married, and seemed to be far more privileged than the others, which made me feel somewhat blatant and uncomfortable as I stood there, slightly separated from the other women. It was as though the men were scrutinizing me even more intently, wondering what could possibly have led me down this path, one that I learned was often the last resort for women who did not want to wait any longer to find their husbands.

  After nearly an hour the platform was all but empty. The men had selected the women from the group and led them off to start getting acquainted and the only people left there was a young man wearing a wedding ring and me. He approached me with a softly sympathetic look and offered his hand.

  "Hello," he said, "I’m Aaron. I own one of the hotels in Bannack. If you'll be wanting to stay, I would be happy to bring you there."

  I looked at him incredulously for a moment.

  "I do not think that I have any choice but to stay, at least for a time while I determine how I will return home."

  "I don't suppose you do," he said with a warm smile. "Bannack would be pleased to have you for even a short time, though."

  I didn't directly agree to go with him, but he reached down and picked up the end of the trunk at my feet, leaving the other two behind.

  "Will som
eone bring my other luggage?" I asked before following.

  "Yes, Miss. I'll send one of my men up here to get it for you just as soon as we get back to the hotel."

  We were silent as we rode in Aaron's small carriage toward the hotel. My mind was reeling. I had been so confident in this plan, so sure that this would give me the life that I had been trying to find, and now I was caught in some earthbound purgatory where I felt I had no options and nowhere to go.

  A lovely woman was standing outside the hotel as we pulled up. She beamed at Aaron and I felt a twinge in my heart. I remembered that smile so clearly on the faces of the young women who visited on the front porch what seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Aaron hopped down and helped me off of the front seat.

  "This is my wife, Hannah," he said, gesturing toward the woman and kissing her lightly on the cheek. "Hannah, this is Miss…" he trailed off and I realized that I had never told him my name.

  "Betsy," I said. "Just Betsy."

  "This is Betsy," Aaron said, giving a wider grin. "Do you know where Emmet is?"

  "He should be right inside."

  Just as Hannah said this, the door to the hotel opened and a man stepped out. He had broad shoulders and thick, dark hair, but it was his eyes that really caught my attention. They were so green I could see their color reflecting the late afternoon sunlight toward me and held a kindness that I had not seen in many years.

  "Emmet, this is Betsy," Aaron introduced. "Emmet is our right-hand man. He handles just about everything for us." He turned toward Emmet. "Would you go on back to the train station and get Betsy's trunks?"

  "Absolutely." Emmet walked toward the carriage and took a moment to smile at me. "It is very nice to meet you, Betsy."

  "It is nice to meet you, as well, Emmet."

  ****

  November, 1863

  Dear Valerie,

  I apologize for not having written since arriving in Bannack. There has been so much happening that it seems each day blends into the next and I have to stop and think to even remember how long I have been here. Though it has been less than a month, I feel like I am a lifetime away from when I first got here. I barely know where to begin.

  I suppose I should admit upfront that I have not found my husband. I am the only woman who joined the bride train who was not chosen from the platform. Though not all of those women have actually married their suitors yet, they were all selected and are intending on marrying in the next few weeks.

  I have been living in one of the hotels in town. It is owned by a kind man named Aaron and his wife. Would you believe that she was a mail order bride as well? They have only just married, but seeing them together does give me hope that love does still exist in the world.

  Well, dear friend, it is time that I tell you that though I have not found a husband here as I intended, I will not be returning. The people of Bannack have been quite welcoming to me and I feel that I will be happy here. There is a house for sale right outside of the main center of town and I am considering purchasing it. Emmet, the handyman of the hotel, will be bringing me to see it later this afternoon, and if I like it, I will be able to move in within the week.

  How I miss you, though. I wish that you were here with me and we could sit on the balcony overlooking the main street as we did your front porch. The people here are so kind and I have become friends with Hannah, the wife of the hotel owner, and the other brides who came to call Bannack home, but it is not the same as you. There is so much that I want to talk to you about, Valerie. I cannot even write it here. I wish that I could understand it better myself. Something may be happening, and I can only pray that I will know what to do.

  Pray for me. Send me the encouragement that I know you would give me if you were with me. This letter will not get to you until after Christmas, so I am sending all of my love and wishes for a beautiful season and all of the joy that it brings.

  With love,

  Betsy

  ****

  "Do you like it?"

  I turned toward Emmet where he stood in the front doorway to the home, the look on his face balanced somewhere between sad and hopeful, as if he was truly invested in the answer that I would give him to that question. I glanced around the house again and then smiled at him.

  "Yes," I said, "I do. Very much."

  "It isn't very big," he said, the hint of concern on his face become more blatant in the sound of his voice.

  "That doesn’t matter," I told him honestly. "It is just me. I do not need so much space."

  He laughed and took a single step further into the home. He was right about it not being very large. Having just one large room in the middle, two small bedrooms off of the sides, and a kitchen, the entirety of the home would have fit on the lower floor of the house back home, but it was perfect for me. I sighed and walked over to the door of one of the bedrooms. It hung from one leather strap, the other two that had originally held the door in place long broken.

  "I can fix that for you," Emmet said as I reached out to touch one of the broken straps. "I noticed that there are a few things that could use some fixing up around here, and I would be happy to do them for you."

  "Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that for me," I told him, shaking my head. "I know that Aaron and Hannah keep you quite busy up at the hotel."

  "It would be my pleasure to help you, Betsy. I know that I speak for more than myself when I say that I am so happy that you decided to stay in Bannack, and I would very much like to do what I can to help you make your home here."

  For the next three weeks Emmet came to the house every morning and evening to handle repairs while I tried to settle in as best as I could. With the cold weather coming strong it was becoming more difficult for him to do the work on the outside of the house that he wanted to do, but I was finding myself eagerly anticipating the moments that he would come inside and drink coffee with me as he thawed by the fire.

  I knew that back home having a gentleman alone in the house with me would have been completely out of the question and would have sent eyebrows soaring on every older lady throughout the city. Here in Bannack, though, things seemed different. I suddenly didn't feel like I had to prove anything to anyone, and the people seemed somehow easier and more welcoming.

  Despite the happiness I was beginning to feel, there were moments when I felt so alone and lonely for my old house, my old city, my family. It was less than two weeks before Christmas when this overwhelming sense of emptiness took over in the most intense way since I had arrived in Bannack. I had been going through a few of the trunks that had been shipped to me from my house when I found my father's handkerchief.

  Something about that single small piece of fabric seemed to tear my heart to pieces and I sat on the bench at the table in the center of the main room and cried. As the tears fell down my cheeks I touched my hand to the handkerchief, running my fingertips over the stitches that my mother had so carefully embroidered into the cloth for Papa. It was as though I could still feel her in those stitches and him in the weave of the white cloth. They were still there, holding the cloth between their intertwined hands while we sat in church, dabbing my tears when I would hurt myself playing as a child, and covering coughs as the spring weather rose up and irritated Papa's lungs as it always did.

  I had my head buried on my arms on the table, the sobs wracking my body, when the door to the house opened and I heard boot steps rush across the floor toward me.

  "Betsy!"

  Emmet's voice was comforting in the midst of my darkness, but I didn't want to raise my face to look at him, I was so ashamed of my tears.

  "I'm alright," I said, trying to sound stronger than I was actually feeling.

  "No, you aren't," Emmet said, taking the place beside me on the bench.

  I felt his hand touch my back and then pull away.

  "What is it, Betsy?" he asked softly.

  I slid the handkerchief over to him, finally opening up and letting everything pour out to him. I had never inten
ded on telling anyone again what had happened in the city that I had left behind. I didn't want anyone to know about the family I had lost, the home for the boys, the hospital, any of it. I had hoped that when I stepped out of that state for the last time that I would leave with it all of those memories, but I knew now that those memories defined me and that I could not escape them no matter how desperately I wanted to at times.

  Finally, I finished and I felt like I could truly breathe for the first time in weeks. It was as if I didn't know I was holding my breath and now suddenly the air was swelling my lungs and surging through my body, refreshing me and filling the places now empty since I purged all of the pain and heartache I had held so closely inside.

  ****

  December, 1863

  Dear Diary,

  Could this truly be happening to me? I do not even know if I am brave enough to write down what I am feeling for fear that it will shatter the beautiful spell that seems to have fallen over me. Perhaps I am just being silly, allowing a moment of compassion in my pain to sway me and convince me of things that are not truly there.

  Is it possible, though, that it is there? Could that softness in Emmet's eyes be the reflection of the feelings for him that have been building inside of me? He is such a kind, gentle, and caring man, Diary, a man unlike any that I have ever known. I feel safe when he is around and I find myself missing him when he is away. I know it is improper and that I should not be thinking of him that way, but it is as if the house feels emptier without the sound of his boots on the floor. Even if he does not say a word, I know that he is there and it brings me great comfort.

  I lay awake last night, huddled under my blankets as I watched a fresh snow fall outside. I prayed that the Lord would hear the cries of my heart and help me to understand what I am feeling so that I may make the choice that he intends for me. Is this where he led me? Could this have been his plan all along?